


Snap Back

by DaiseeChain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse of oak doors., Exhibitionism, HP: EWE, M/M, Post - Deathly Hallows, Voyeurism, Wanton disregard for beautiful silk rugs.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 04:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaiseeChain/pseuds/DaiseeChain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s still fighting, Draco’s attempting to make peace, and Neville’s playing, uh, neutral arbiter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snap Back

**Author's Note:**

> Direct sequel to [Dragon Snapped](http://archiveofourown.org/works/534509).
> 
> Originally posted 24/01/2010.

As predicted, both Draco and Harry's absence from the party had been noted, although thankfully not by the same people. Draco came to a sudden stop just before the front portico, and checked Harry's clothes, adjusting his tie so that it sat straight.

"Well, now they'll know something is up." Harry said. "I've never been capable of getting my tie straight without someone's help."

"Yes. I noticed it was askew on your initial entrance. I pay close attention to detail."

"Really? Then you should probably remove the leaves from your hair before you lose your reputation as a stickler for minutiae."

Draco looked upward as if he could somehow see the back of his head that way. Harry sighed, reached up, and brushed the foliage out. A movement further up the steps caught the corner of his eye. He froze, his fingers twined in Draco's fine, blond hair. Draco turned his head slightly to see what had distracted Harry.

"Good evening, Ronald." he said, cheerfully.

Ron's eyes narrowed.

Harry felt he ought to explain the situation. "I was, uh, that is, we, uh..." He glanced back at Draco who smiled beatifically, but said nothing to help. "Leaves?" He finished, his voice shrinking under the onslaught of Ron's continued glare.

"People," Ron said stiffly, "are looking for you." He looked Draco up and down, and added, "And you, I suppose."

"Thank you, Ronald. Harry and I will be in shortly." Draco stood with his weight mostly on one leg, clearly relaxed. When Ron failed to move, he took one hand out his pocket and waved in Ron's direction. "You can go now."

Ron's face reddened. His hands clenched. Just as he was about to vault toward them, Harry intervened. "He didn't mean it like that, Ron. It's okay, I'll be there in a minute, okay?" He realised his hand was still in Draco's hair, and moved it from the back of Draco's head as if he'd touched a hot cauldron. "I, uh, I'd really appreciate it if you could stall them a bit for me, yeah?" He tried, unsuccessfully, to surreptitiously brush the leaves stuck to his hand off on his trousers.

Ron scowled, said nothing, but turned anyway and stalked inside.

"Well, that went well, I thought."

Harry squelched the suspicion that Draco actually meant that and had no idea how close he'd just come to being pummelled. There'd be time to get into that later. Right now they had to meet and greet, be on show, and their best behaviour. He coughed. "Right. Let's go. We're expected to be in there."

"I'm always expected to be in there, Harry. It is my home after all, it's not that unusual that I should be there."

Harry sighed. "Look, let's just get in there, okay?"

Draco shrugged. "As you desire."

Harry, who had started forward already, shuddered to a halt, and looked back at Draco. Draco smiled and batted his lashes. Harry had been right. Draco had clearly intended the innuendo, yet still looked for all the world as if he was completely innocent. Harry was going to have to learn how to do that, unless he wanted his sex life plastered over the front page of every copy of Witch Weekly for the next decade. He turned away from Draco again, and strode into The Manor foyer conveying a great deal more confidence than he felt.

Draco sauntered after him.

Several minutes later, having separated almost immediately at the front door, Harry and Draco were each ensconced in tedious small talk with visiting dignitaries. Sometimes Harry felt the hair on his neck stand on end, and was certain Draco was watching him, but each time he checked, Draco's gaze was fixed firmly on whichever minor bureaucrat was toadying for his favour this time. Harry had to hand it to Draco; he certainly knew how to charm people. How to charm the pants off them even.

During the middle of an excruciating exchange with the Belgian Minister for Chocolate Frog Standardisation, in which Harry once again rebuffed the proposal to authorise a card bearing his image, he had the prickling sensation again that he was being watched. Once again, when he glanced around, Draco was deep in debate with someone, paying not the slightest attention to Harry. The Minister happily droned on about the need for chocolate to mean chocolate and not candy, or what was the world coming to, and as Harry felt he wasn't required to participate in the conversation, he took the chance to glance around the rest of the room. Ron was stuck with some old guy who had worked with his father back in 'the good old days', and though his expression was glum, he clearly wasn't watching Harry. Neither was Hermione, who was enthusiastically exchanging ideas with the representative from the Irish Deputy Archivist on the best way to prevent scroll deterioration during long-term storage. He knew there were Aurors, and outer perimeter security out there, ensuring his safety, and... Oh God. He hadn't even considered that earlier. They would have had a front row seats to the entire show, and possibly even audio. His face flushed, and he nearly choked on his champagne.

The Belgian Minister looked alarmed. "Are you all right? Should I get help?"

"No," Harry spluttered and coughed, regaining control, "It's fine. The drink just got the better of me." He brushed ineffectually at the drink he'd managed to spill down the front of his shirt. "Ah, but, if you'll excuse me, I think I had better go clean up."

Without waiting to hear the Minister's reply, he moved through the Grand Room to the nearest door, hoping it would turn out to be one that lead to the hall. Malfoy Manor was the biggest house he'd ever set foot in, and despite his brief captivity there and two more recent tours as a prelude to today’s detente efforts, he still had difficulty keeping in his head which door led to which room. His progress out was slowed considerably by the number of people, who, on seeing him currently disengaged from conversation, attempted to engage him in another. When he finally made it to the door, and into what thankfully really was the hall, he stood for a minute, partly wondering where he should go from here, partly thankful for the cooler air out here away from the throng.

Lost as to where to go next, he opened the doors leading off the hallway at random. He could have asked a house elf where to go, but he was sick and tired of being helped out with everything. Having spent his entire life fending for himself and fighting his life, it was a nice change not to always be looking over his shoulder, but lately the gratitude of anyone not in his immediate school year had become cloying. Every waking moment someone offered to help. The Wizarding world had, once the danger was over, ceased to look to him for salvation, and had begun trying to look after him instead. Everyone, from Minister Shacklebolt to witches and wizards he’d never met, solicited his opinion on everything from how to run the country to which broom to buy. It was as if suddenly the entire country was determined to give him the childhood he had missed, but it was far too late for that. So many years fending for himself, and now he was expected to willingly submit to being adored by thousands. He slammed the door to what had turned out to be a library. “Harry, which wand should I buy?” He muttered. “Harry, why won’t you let us use you on a frog card?” He slammed the next door along, when that too failed to be a bathroom. “Harry, just do this one favour for the Ministry and we promise we won’t ask you for anything else.” He fumed at next door, as if it was somehow responsible for they way his life had turned out. “Oh yeah?” He muttered to himself. “How many favours does this make it now?” He glared at the door, then punched it.

“Ow! Ow! Fucking Ow!” He examined his knuckles, which were already bruising under the onslaught of solid mahogany.

Laughter from behind, had him spinning, bruised hand half way to what should have been his jacket pocket before he realised two things. One, he wasn’t carrying his wand. Security had reluctantly agreed to the compromise that if Lucius Malfoy couldn’t carry a wand to this function, then neither could the guest of honour. And two, the source of the sound, was, once again, Draco.

“I don’t know what the door did to deserve such brutality, but at least that will teach you to think twice before roughing up defenceless houses.”

Harry scowled. “It’s not funny, Draco. And you can’t honestly expect me to believe this house can’t defend itself, can you? I refuse to believe that Malfoy Manor of all places is defenceless.” He turned his bruised hand under the light of the chandelier.

Draco slipped closer, and reached for Harry’s hand. When Harry tried to move it out of reach, Draco shook his head. “I’m only trying to help. Wouldn’t want any permanent damage to my property, after all.” He smirked, and took hold of the hand while Harry was busy trying to rid himself of the images that expression evoked. He’d nearly succeeded, when Draco, who had bent slightly to inspect Harry’s knuckles, looked up at him through half-lidded eyes and said, “It is my favourite hand after all. And this makes twice in one night you’ve managed to injure it.” His tongue darted out and touched a tender spot, making Harry wince. “Anyone would think you need someone to look after you.”

“I think I know how to look after myself, thanks.”

Draco withdrew his touch, and stood slowly as the echoes of a nearly forgotten conversation washed over them. “If that is so,” he asked, after several seconds had elapsed, “why are you always getting hurt, even when you’re not in combat?”

Harry jutted out his chin. “I’m always in combat, Draco. It never ends.”

“Perhaps it’s time it did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Draco shook his head again. “No one’s asking you to fight anymore, Harry. Why are you so determined to persist?”

“Every day is a battle, Malfoy.”

“It was a door, Potter. And you were battling it.” Draco watched him intently for a minute. “Who are you really angry with?”

Harry spluttered. “I’m not... There’s no... I’m just...” Thoughts wove in and out of the front of his mind so fast he couldn’t get hold of them. He swept his good arm, gesturing at the entire world, and sucked in his breath. “It’s just that they all want... so much. All the time. All the time. And they never stop demanding.” The words came out in a rush, riding his exhalation.

Draco stepped forward again and Harry stepped back in equal measure, but Draco simply reached round him, opened the door to the as yet unnamed room, then stepped back and gestured for Harry to enter. “We should talk.”

Harry didn’t feel like talking. He’d done enough of it for one evening, thanks, but he still stepped through the doorway. At least it would be out of sight of the hall where one of his ‘followers’ might be able to follow him.

Draco shut the door behind them.

Harry’s looked around the room. It turned out to be a study. Despite the absence of occupants, a low fire burned steadily in the hearth, warming the air. Harry supposed every room was like this, ready for use at a moment’s notice. Then he noticed an odd pink light flicker amongst the flames.

“Security.” Draco said, nodding at the fire. “Ward to prevent anyone climbing in through the flue from the roof.”

Harry looked sideways at him. “Personally, I would have thought the idea of ending up on fire would have been deterrent enough.”

Draco’s face didn’t quite complete an expression, as though he were holding something back. “You’d be surprised at what some people are willing to put themselves through to get what they want.”

“Not really, no.” Harry said, deliberately watching the fire, not Draco.

Draco’s head turned in Harry’s direction. After a while he said, “No. I suppose you wouldn’t.” He turned away again and walked over to the large desk. He perched himself on the edge of it, and nodded to the chair. “Take a seat.”

Harry stayed where he was.

“Suit yourself then.” Draco folded his arms. “What’s this really about?”

Harry shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“No offence, Draco, but I’m still not sure I can trust you.”

Draco’s laughed raucously. “Harry, it’s been five years since the final battle, until today neither of us had done anything but be conspicuously polite to one another, and not an hour ago you were thrashing about under my thrall in the garden. Not only that, but in case you’d forgotten we are supposed to be allies in this brave new political venture. Exactly when are you going to try trusting me?”

Harry conceded he had a point. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt just this once. There were no dark secrets in any case, only his pent up frustration. And, if Draco crossed him and revealed any of what he said to anyone else, he could always simply hex him to hell and back. On that last comforting thought, he opened his mouth and began telling Draco exactly what his life was like now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

30 minutes later he was still ranting. He’d started out reasonably enough, but once begun, found he couldn’t hold back the torrent of venom over every slight, real or imagined, every half-arsed attempt to manipulate or blackmail him, every expectation his new found ‘respect’ seemed to engender. That very word, respect, he had come to loathe. He could almost guarantee these days that the minute someone opened a conversation with the phrase, “Harry, because we respect you so much...” it would be the opening gambit in an effort to use him as the poster boy for yet another agenda. “And it’s not even as if most of them are any good at it!” He was almost yelling now. “I mean, seriously. Seven years fighting off Voldemort and Death Eaters, being manipulated by the faculty at the school that was supposed to be protecting me, and they think I’m going to be fooled by petty bureaucrats? Who are they trying to kid?” He kicked a plant stand and watched it topple over. “It’s just...” He finally ran out of steam.

“Unfair?” Ventured Draco, who until now had held his own counsel.

Harry pouted. He knew he was pouting, and that it was childish, and that he shouldn’t, but he did it anyway. To add emphasis, he sulked.

“So that’s it? That’s what has you practically frothing at the mouth? Everyone expects something from you?” Draco pointed to the chair. “Sit down.”

Harry folded his arms in refusal.

Draco sucked in his breath, lifted his chin, stared Harry right in the eyes, and said, “I said. Sit. Down.”

Harry did. And then blinked. And then scowled. There was a touch too much of Snape in Draco’s voice just then. He thought about that. If Snape was a Death Eater with Lucius, then Draco would have seen the man outside of school hours as well, probably here in his own home. And he wouldn’t have put it past Draco to learn how Snape thought and behaved, the better to curry favour with him at school.

“Listen up, Harry. I’m only going to say this once. Deal with it.”

Harry glared at him. “That’s it? Those are your great words of wisdom? Deal with it?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’re the only Wizard who has to live up to unwarranted expectations? Every pureblood does, right from the start. You don’t think carrying the Malfoy name might come with certain expectations? My duty to the name and to society as a whole were drummed in to me from birth. You are not alone in this problem. You never will be.”

Harry snorted. “Because I have you for company.”

“Well obviously. And every other pureblood out there, whichever stand they took before the war.”

Harry stared. People were usually so careful not to mention the war around him. It had been years since he’d even heard it mentioned out loud but it didn’t seem to bother Draco at all.

“You had it lucky, those first eleven years, Harry.” When Harry opened his mouth to object, Draco held up a hand, and cut across him. “I didn’t say easy, I said lucky. And I choose my words with care, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Well, yes. He had noticed.

“For eleven years you knew nothing of the world’s expectations of you. Imagine how much worse it would have been, growing up knowing from the start.”

Harry thought about it.

“That’s what every other pureblood has to put up with. Granted, the rest of us aren't usually expected to be the saviour of the wizarding community, but we are expected to uphold our family ethos and obligations from the very start.”

“Ron didn’t...”

“Ronald Weasley does. His upbringing may have been in stark contrast to my own, but his family still hold him to certain standards. And quite high ones at that, if the twins were anything to judge by.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Why do you think they were always such pricks?”

“They were high-spirited.”

“They were rebelling Harry. Against their family’s expectation of them.”

Harry thought back over the twins’ exploits at school. Draco’s argument had at least a tinge of truth to it, he had to admit. Molly had certainly pushed her children to behave ‘appropriately’ at every opportunity. She’d embarrassed Ron on more than one occasion. And she still tried to tell Harry what to do, even now. It struck him like a thunderbolt. “Draco?”

“Yes?”

“Did you become a Death Eater just to piss off your parents?”

Draco blinked rapidly, then sniffed haughtily. “Possibly.” He said. “But that’s not the point.”

“What do you mean that’s not the point! You nearly killed me!” He stood suddenly strode over to jab a finger in Draco’s chest. “You did kill Professor Dumbledore.”

Draco’s face darkened. He went very still. “That”, he said enunciating each word carefully, “was Snape. As you very well know.”

Harry did know. It still rankled, after all these years. He shoved his finger hard into Malfoy’s chest, upsetting Draco’s balance. As Draco grabbed for the edge of the desk to stop from slipping over, Harry stalked over to the fireplace.

It was down to embers now. Red, gold, and topaz. For a moment, he was reminded of Sirius’ face in the ashes at Hogwarts. He blinked, and the memory vanished. Draco’s hand settled on his shoulder. He was tempted to shrug it off, but did nothing. “This isn’t going to work, is it?” He asked.

“What isn’t?”

“Us.”

Draco spun Harry round to face him, his face composed. “Do you want it to?”

“I want... I want...”

“What do you want, Harry? Do you even know?”

He didn’t of course, not that he was about to admit it.

Draco’s grip tightened on his shoulder. “Harry?”

Harry grabbed Draco’s wrist and twisted, sending Draco stumbling a few steps away.

Draco shook his head. “What the hell?”

Years of training kicked in as Harry neatly side stepped Draco’s advance, spinning out of his way. Draco came to a stop with his back to Harry, and Harry shoved him forward, slamming him into the edge of the desk. His breath sounded loud in the room, as Draco turned quickly to face him, and Harry closed the gap between them till they were standing toe to toe. “Well?”

“Well what?” Draco looked annoyed, but otherwise remained still.

“What are you going to do?”

“About what?”

The split second it took Harry to snarl, was all it took for Draco to pull his wand and aim it Harry’s throat.

Harry swallowed. He could feel the pressure from the wand, down in his toes.

“Is this what you want?” Draco still appeared calm. “Does it always have to be a fight, Harry?”

He could dive off to either side, or simply back up, but Harry stayed where he was. For some reason he had no inclination to move.

“You could just leave. Simply turn around and walk out.” Draco reached out and tugged at Harry’s shirt front. “But that’s not what you want, is it?”

Harry choked out the words. “I... I don’t know what I want.”

“Shall I help you work it out? Come here.” Draco pulled him in close. When Harry resisted, he said, “Don’t fight me. I won’t hurt you. I could have, out in the garden, remember? Try trusting me.”

Harry reached up, touched Draco’s cheek and was rewarded with a smile.

“Close your eyes.” Draco let go of Harry’s shirt, and moved to cover Harry’s hand with his own. The wand remained, pressing into Harry’s throat. “Close your eyes, and turn around.”

Every instinct screamed at Harry to stay alert, but the smell of Draco, his body heat, disordered and scattered his thoughts. For several seconds, there was no sound but their breathing and the occasional crackle from the fireplace. Harry closed his eyes, let his hand drop from Draco’s face, allowing Draco to turn him around and close in on him.

There was a frozen moment, like the chill before a snowfall, and Harry’s thoughts, like the sound in the cold air outside, carried further. Tiny hopes and fears grew, crystallising in his brain, solidifying, intruding into his consciousness, as though the light Draco shed on them enabled him to see them for the first time.

With Draco pressed against his back, one hand wrapped around his waist, the other holding his wand pressed under Harry’s chin, Harry could finally, finally, put a name to that want, that unspoken need. The one thing missing from his life in the last five years.

“Desire,” Draco whispered in his ear, “thy name is danger.”

Harry shivered and closed his eyes as memories flashed through his mind. He’d never felt more alive than during those years at Hogwarts, and every relationship he’d had there, from the nearly unbreakable bond he formed with Ron and Hermione, to the brief summer of Ginny, had been forged in the heat of battle. And then the war had ended. And there had been nothing. Brief moments of respite, quick fumbles for relief, but nothing approaching the passion he’d felt back at school. He’d put it down to maturing, to the absence of the wild mood swings that all teenagers experienced. Draco had proven him wrong. The tighter Draco’s fingers dug in, the faster Harry’s heart beat. The harder the wand pushed against his neck, the more he pressed back into Draco. When he opened his eyes again he was nearly giddy.

Draco nipped at his earlobe making Harry whimper, which was the precise moment Neville walked into the room.

Even having seen him in battle, Harry had no idea Neville could move that fast. His wand was out and pointed at Draco before either of them even blinked.

“Neville,” Draco began, but was cut short.

“Get away from him.” Neville’s hand wasn’t wavering in the slightest, but his eyes flitted to Harry’s, coolly assessing the situation and coming up with completely the wrong understanding. “All right, Harry?” He asked, sounding as if he’d just bumped into his friend in The Department hallway.

“Fine, Neville.” Harry rasped the words out, being, as he was, half-choked by Draco’s wand which wasn’t easing up at all.

“Ron sent me to look for you. He was concerned.”

“Oh, you hear that, Harry? Ickle Ronikins is worried.”

Harry knew damn well that Draco was amused. Apparently, Neville didn’t because he stepped slowly forward, wand arm steady, eyes fixed on Draco. “I’m not going to tell you again. Let him go.”

“What if he doesn’t want me to?”

“I won’t let you hurt him.”

Draco sighed. “Neville, you great poached egg, Harry doesn’t need your protection.”

“You sure about that? From where I stand he doesn’t look like he’s in control.”

Draco leant his head down to rest on Harry’s shoulder, still keeping a close watch on Neville, and Harry felt a shudder against his back, as Draco chuckled. “Mmm. You may be right about that.” He leaned his head in toward Harry’s ear, and sighed heavily, his breath curling around Harry’s neck, ruffling the hairs at the nape of his neck.

Harry couldn’t help it. He closed his eyes. Hot breath through cold air. Draco moulding himself to Harry’s back. He could feel each of Draco’s fingers as a distinct outline on his skin, even through the fabric of his trousers. The polished wood of Draco’s wand sliding along the curve of his chin, tainting the polite fictions of his imagination.

“Harry?” Neville’s voice was hesitant, much closer to the Neville of old than the man Harry knew today.

Harry forced his eyes open, although keeping them that way was difficult. They kept blinking heavily, as his mind fought for focus. He swallowed and croaked, “Neville?”

Neville’s eyes were narrowed, his teeth gritted as he ground out, “He’s bewitched.”

“Oh absolutely.” Draco said, his voice lilting.

“Release the spell.” Neville lifted his wand slightly, aiming directly between Draco’s eyes.

Draco sighed again causing tendrils of champagne-scented air to climb round Harry’s throat. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Neville. You see, Harry’s partially responsible for this one, and without his co-operation, neither one of us can be released.”

Neville’s gaze flitted over Harry once more, then snapped back to Draco. The two men stared at each other.

Even with Draco all but wrapped around him, Harry’s blood rush slowed as Draco ceased moving. Thoughts, entire cogent arguments even, began forming. “Mwuh?” he enquired.

Draco sniggered, dropped his gaze from Neville, and pressed his lips into Harry’s shoulder to prevent himself laughing out loud. Once he had control, he raised his head and looked at Harry. “Succinct as ever.” He looked back at Neville, who had crept forward a few more steps during Draco’s distraction. “I wouldn’t,” he growled.

Neville’s eyes strayed to the wand at Harry’s throat.

Harry coughed. “It’s really okay, Neville. There’s... uh... really not a problem.” None at all. Apart from having his sex drive kicked into high gear, then put in a holding queue while one of his oldest friends and his apparently new best friend considered hexing each other, with Harry in their line of fire, he was quite all right actually.

“If there’s no problem, you should ask Mr Malfoy to release you.”

Harry frowned. “Mr Malfoy isn’t here.”

“He means me, Harry.”

“Oh.”

“Harry, he has you under some kind of spell.”

“Mm-hmm.” Harry said. His legs were getting sore. He wiggled his hips a bit to revive his circulation and was rewarded with a response from Draco. He hoped Neville would leave soon.

Neville continued. “Ask him to let you go.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Oh don’t mind Neville, Harry. He’s just doing what any good Auror should do under the circumstances.”

Harry blinked at Neville. “You do that a lot for work?” Taking Neville’s silence for confusion he clarified, “Interrupt people having sex to interrogate them about it?”

“He has a wand at your throat, Harry.” Neville indicated Draco’s wand with a nod of his head.

“Very observant of you, Neville.”

There was an odd tone in Draco’s voice that caused Harry to try and turn his head to look at him. He stopped when the dangerous end of the wand poked his chin.

“If Harry really wants you, why do need to force him?”

“Is this you asking, Neville?”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Of course it’s Neville. Who else would it be?” His eyes widened. “Polyjuice?”

Draco tilted his head to rest it against Harry’s, but he kept looking at Neville. “No. Not Polyjuice. But I rather suspect Neville already knows the answer to his question, and simply needs confirmation for an awkwardly written report he and the others on your detail are going to be handing in to The Ministry tonight.”

“Detail?” When Draco declined to explain, he looked at Neville, who also remained silent. What detail? What had he missed? What report? To The Ministry? The only people he knew of who regularly reported on his activities to The Ministry were... oh. “You’re on my security team?”

Neville confirmed it with a curt nod.

Harry’s shoulders sagged. “Terrific.” Under his breath he added, “At least he was inside The Manor half an hour ago.”

Draco apparently had excellent hearing and absolutely no sense of shame. “As I recall, you had a special interest in Herbology, Neville. What do you think of the garden? It was designed to heighten the senses. Do you think the design succeeds?” He licked Harry’s neck.

Instead of the burning trail he was learning to associate with Draco’s touches this one left Harry ice-cold, gasping, and staring aghast at his fellow Gryffindor. The watcher from the window had been Neville?

Draco flicked the wand away from Harry's neck, just for an instant. "Pull up a seat, Neville," he said, muttering an Accio at the chair. It slid over by the fire.

Harry looked from Draco to Neville and back again. "What..."

"Hush." Draco said, moving his free hand to wrap it round Harry's waist. "Neville needs to take notes. To be absolutely certain you're acting of your own volition."

At Draco's nod, Neville raised his head, then came to a decision and walked to the chair. Harry expected him to sit in it, bolt upright, anxious. Neville apparently had other ideas. He sort of flopped diagonally into it, draping one leg over the arm of the chair, wand still in his hand but resting on his thigh. And then he just raised his eyebrows at Draco. Harry had never seen someone so clearly say "Well then, show me what you've got", in complete silence. He wasn't warning Draco, he was challenging him.

Harry's mouth hung open for a second as he stared at Neville. He was about to exclaim that this wasn't right, this couldn't be how Neville got off, when he realised he actually didn't have a clue what Neville did for kicks. He'd never paid him that much attention. He could have been secretly shagging half the students for all Harry had ever known. And then he couldn't say anything at all, because Draco's wand was back at his throat, and Draco's teeth were on his earlobe, and the hand round his waist was moving down, and all the blood from his brain followed it.

"You want this, don't you?" Draco asked.

Harry sighed. "Yes."

"Little louder, Harry. Don't think Neville could hear you very well."

Harry blinked. He'd almost forgotten Neville was there. Neville hadn't forgotten about him, though. He was watching Harry intently. Harry looked directly back at him, and said very clearly. "Yes."

Which was all the invitation Draco needed to dive right in. "Harry's very pretty, don't you think, Neville?" He kissed the nape of Harry's neck, and Harry shivered.

Neville didn't say a word. Just watched as Draco patiently untied, unbuttoned, and unbuckled Harry's clothing. But he did move his wand hand, rolling the wand slowly up and down his thigh. It was hypnotic. Harry found himself watching the wand, and Draco, sensing this, began moving his hands and hips in time to the same rhythm. Harry's face flushed as Draco ground his erection against Harry's back, and all the time, he was aware, Neville was watching every movement.

Draco slid Harry's trousers a little way down his thighs, then freed Harry's cock from his boxers. He rested his chin on Harry's shoulder and from the corner of his eye Harry could see Draco was paying more attention to Neville than he was to Harry. He was trailing his finger along Harry's cock, feeling for Harry's reaction, watching for Neville’s.

Neville's eyelids were half-closed, attention all on Harry and breathing heavily, but still the movement of the wand didn’t stop. Slowly up, slowly down, in perfect time to Draco's hand, as if he were conducting music.

"You do realise, don't you Harry, that I could hurt you quite badly, right now?" Draco jabbed the tip of the wand under Harry's throat, as he whispered into Harry's ear. "And your friend over there, the one sent to protect you, is more interested in seeing you fucked, than seeing you saved." Draco's hand wrapped completely round Harry's cock now, and jerked in a small fierce move.

Harry's cock came to instant attention. Hell yeah. It seemed Draco really did have his number. So when Draco pulled his hand up to the base of Harry's cock and gripped so tightly it throbbed, but kept his hand there, and asked, "Are you going to fight? Or are you going to surrender?" it was all Harry could do to roll his head back on Draco's shoulder and whisper the word.

"Surrender."

The wand moved from Harry's chin, dragged down his chest, where it stayed, firm in Draco's hand, while his other hand eased the pressure slightly and moved swiftly. Harry’s eyes closed, his body shaking, so overwhelmed by sensation that he nearly missed the moment Neville called out to him.

"Look at me."

Draco had to move his wand hand up to Harry's head, and lift it by his hair, he was so far gone. It hurt a little, and his own reaction to that surprised him. He finally managed to look at Neville, and nearly blew it right then. Neville was jerking off, watching Draco pump Harry. When Neville looked him straight in the eye and said "I'm coming", Harry was about two seconds behind him.

He squirmed in Draco’s grip, face red from the exertion, as he came. Draco planted little kisses on his neck, and as his breathing slowed, his brain began functioning again. Little details came into view. The fact he’d spoiled what looked to be a very expensive silk rug. That yet again, Draco had brought him off, without finding release himself. That Neville was still in the room, no longer watching them, head rolled back on the wing of the chair, wand hand finally at rest. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling slowly.

Neville broke the illusion that he was sleeping. “I’m almost satisfied that I can state no underhanded tactics have been used here, Draco, but I still need to know what you meant by Harry being partly responsible for the spell, before I can close off this section of my report.”

Draco bought his hand up under Harry’s nose, then lightly touched his fingers to Harry’s lips. He whispered in Harry’s ear, “Open your mouth.” When Harry obeyed, he promptly slipped his fingers in, and Harry tasted himself all over them. As he licked Draco’s fingers clean, Draco calmly discussed the situation with Neville, as though they were talking Ministry business which, in a way, Harry supposed they were. “I would have thought that were obvious, by now. Harry needs someone to take control, and I like being in control. I won’t be able to walk away till Harry decides he no longer needs me.”

Harry paused in his ministrations, lips still round Draco’s fingers. Was Draco saying what he imagined?

“State it clearly and plainly, Draco,” Neville warned, “or I won’t be able to let the matter drop.”

Harry pulled his head back, letting go of Draco’s fingers, turning his head slightly to get a glimpse of Draco’s face. He was smirking.

“He belongs to me,” Draco said, before nipping Harry’s earlobe. “And I belong to him. For as long as he wants me.” Draco looked at Neville.

Neville considered for a moment, then nodded curtly.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Harry frowned.

Draco laughed, and squeezed him. “I just told you, you nitwit. For as long as you want me.”

Harry pretended to think about this, then shrugged. “Yeah, seems fair.”

The squeaking of leather alerted Harry to Neville’s movement. He was cleaning himself up, and standing up with some difficulty. “Bloody chair,” he muttered. “Who chooses your furniture, Malfoy?”

“Traditionally? The Lady of the Manor. But that chair I believe belonged to my grandfather. He had conservative tastes.”

“Hmmph.” Was all Neville said, as he struggled to clamber out of it. Before Neville pulled his trousers up Harry noticed there were imprints on his legs, from the button decorations. “I’ll hand in a favourable report on the condition you allow Harry to choose the furniture from now on.”

“No.” Harry and Draco said in unison.

Draco shook his head. “As usual you’ve failed to fully grasp the situation, Neville. Harry doesn’t want to choose. That’s what he has me for now.”

Neville stopped brushing his trousers down and blinked at them. He looked directly at Harry, who nodded his agreement. “You sure?”

“Yes. It’s what I want.” He hadn’t been certain till this moment, but now he was.

“Right. Got it.” Neville glanced down at something, and then at the door. “I’ve got to go. There’s only so long I can be absent without someone calling an alert. Up till now they’ll have assumed I was dealing with the two of you. I’ll stall as long as I can, but you’ve been missing from the party for most of the evening, so you’d better get back out there soon. And you might want to clean that up.” He pointed to the dark, damp patch on the intricate pattern in the rug. He straightened his tie.

“Neville,” Draco called to him softly, “If I find word of anything that happened tonight in any magazine or newspaper, I’ll know exactly where to look for the source.”

Neville and Draco warily watched each other. Eventually Neville nodded and said, “Same to you.” The door made a soft snicking sound as it closed behind him.

“Draco?”

Draco shifted slightly behind him, and put his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Mmm?”

“Can I clean up now? I’m getting cold.”

He could feel Draco shaking his head against his shoulder, then the slight movements that accompanied Draco chuckling. “You could, I suppose, although walking out like that would certainly make you the centre of attention you are supposed to be tonight.”

Harry reached back and lightly punched him on the shoulder.

“Ow.”

He rolled his eyes. There was no way that had hurt. “I don’t want more attention, I want less of it.”

“Is that so?” Draco’s hand reached down again and gave a slight tug.

“Gnugh.”

“Quite right. And so is Neville. We should go back, me to be the gracious host’s heir, you to be the glamourous guest of honour.” He flicked his wand, muttering charms under his breath, and a few seconds later Harry was clean, tidy and once more presentable.

As Draco slid out from behind him, Harry caught his sleeve. “I’ve had a lot of fun tonight, but I’m wondering why you’ve been holding back.”

One eyebrow arched elegantly. “Why is that?”

Harry’s face heated. “It’s all been about me, so far. Doesn’t seem like it was a lot of fun for you.”

Draco leaned in and kissed his forehead. “That’s because it’s all been about what you need. What I need, comes later. Besides, don’t imagine for a second I wasn’t getting anything out of it.”

It was Harry’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Harry Potter, in my arms, under my control, in full view of his protection team, out, literally and metaphorically, in public, when he should have been doing his duty. There was very little I could have done to make the situation any more subversive. And you look even more delicious dishevelled than you do when tidy. Just as if you’d come in from a game of Quidditch. Trust me, I’ll be using that image for weeks.”

Harry blinked. “Oh.”

“Shall we?” Draco held his arm out for Harry.

“Shouldn’t we do something about that, though” Harry nodded to the carpet.

Draco sniffed. “Let the house-elves take care of it. Besides, we’re only going to ruin it again when the other guests have all left.”

Harry drew a deep breath at the implications. “Oh. Right.” He took Draco’s arm, then hesitated. “Is this, I mean, are we...” He looked anxiously from their entwined arms to the door. “Are we making some sort of grand announcement? I mean, walking to the party arm in arm?”

“Why not? Now is as good a time as any. Spirit of détente, both parties coming together for the sake of unity, that sort of thing.”

“Not sure I’d choose those exact words...”

“Relax. I just wanted to walk you to the door. I’m still the unforgiven Death Eater son of an unforgiven Death Eater. I’m not looking to make any public proclamations, any more than you are.” He drew Harry to him, and tapped him on the nose with his wand. “It’s not a battle anymore, Harry. Remember that. I take care of what’s mine, however it needs to be taken care of.”

“Until I don’t need you any more?”

“Until you decide you don’t need me any more. Just so.”

Draco started to move again, but Harry stayed put, bringing Draco forcibly to a halt. By the thinning of Draco’s mouth, Harry gathered he was irritated. Before he had to endure a scolding, he plunged in. “Draco, thank you.”

“Thank me later,” Draco said, rolling his eyes, “when we get to the good stuff. Right now we have a party to get back to.” He marched off, pulling Harry with him.

Harry sighed. Clearly there were still areas in this relationship they were going to have to work on. No doubt, while working on whatever ‘the good stuff’ was. The thought cheered him no end.

He was still smiling as he made his way back into the party.


End file.
